Remember When

All of us boys had dogs. To tell the truth, they were mostly just plain dogs of various sizes and folks called them “mixed breeds,” whatever that means.

These dogs were talented, too. Why, they could chase balls, cars (and cats) and bark at strangers, which is what you expect from a good dog. There’s nothing better than having a big, old dog beside you in a pup tent on a dark and scary night.

Uncle Bob and Aunt Prunie are coming to visit us for a spell. I don’t mind that, but they’re bringing my two dreaded little cousins with them.

That means there’s going to be a couple of real boogers in our house for a while. Yes sir, double trouble is on the way. I reckon they couldn’t find anybody willing to take the pair in during their absence.

Things have been wide open around here. Since we got their postcard, we’ve been busy getting things straightened up.

One recent morning – as four or five snowflakes cast a film over the sidewalk – I relaxed with sips of hot coffee after reading the newspaper, and pondered plans to wish my son, Blake, a happy birthday.

You know, our second-born isn’t a little fella who romps through the house in muddy shoes on days like this any more.

The years have flown by, or so it seems. Soon, I’ll be 76.

Thank goodness, I happened across this newspaper article about folks growing vegetables in small plots.